


With Heart In Hand

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Pas de Deux Affair we find our Russian in need of some TLC on Valentine's Day. The kindness of his partner becomes a bridge between hope and heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Heart In Hand

[The Pas de Deux Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/206528/chapters/307439)

**~~~~~** :

 

 

The evening had been intended as a gift of sorts, an homage to the Russian’s past as well as a reward at the end of a grueling and emotion charged affair. If Napoleon Solo had ever courted the possibility of either disaster or greatness, this was surely that moment.

  
After the Pas de Deux Affair, aptly named for its balletic nature, Illya had been melancholic and somber. Although it was not an uncommon state for the man, spending time among his fellow countrymen, and women, seemed to have thrust the blond agent into a brooding state that Napoleon was finding difficult to dislodge. The American knew he couldn’t entirely grasp the depth of his friend’s sense of displacement, but after a few years in New York there had seemed to be an ease about him that belied any kind of homesick blues. Illya was a grown man, after all, and traveled the world with ease. Why should a few ballet dancers with heavy accents disrupt his world so?  
  
“Illya, I hope you’re hungry. We have a reservation for dinner at a very special place tonight.” Napoleon was generous by nature, and his affability was legendary. Only the sometimes dour Soviet agent seemed immune to his partner’s charm. Icy blue eyes peer from beneath a shaggy blond head of hair that was hanging dangerously low over his brow. Mr. Waverly would be making direct requests soon that the young man get to a barber.

  
“Napoleon, I know that I have been ... um, distant or... preoccupied. You do not need to court me, my friend. Dinner is not necessary...” Napoleon cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, the affair was taxing to say the least. You were beat up...’ He might have added ‘both physically and emotionally’...

  
“Just let me do this. I think you’ll be pleased with my choice of venue.” Illya raised one eyebrow, suspicious always and sometimes grateful where Napoleon was concerned. The American excelled in gracious accommodation, even if he was at times overly optimistic.

  
“Very well. What time are our reservations?” A small smile creased his features as Illya relented. There was no point trying to resist Solo when he set his mind to something; in this case the promise of an excellent meal was worth surrender.  
Each man headed to the next task within UNCLE Headquarters; Napoleon in search of the next evening’s potential date, Illya to Records in search of lost opportunity.

  
Illya Kuryakin wouldn’t say that his heart had been broken by the events during the Pas de Deux Affair. The attraction he had felt for the lovely dance instructress had been reciprocated, only to discover that she was still employed by the Soviets. It would have been impossible to pursue anything romantic with Karina, and perhaps that had been the real heartache; the continuing presence of the Kremlin over his life in spite of being with UNCLE, of living a new life in New York. Were they to become involved and be discovered... They were both at risk of being sent back, and in that event, lost forever in the bowels of Soviet justice.

  
Karina Plushenko had captured the attention of the reticent Russian agent almost instantly. Her calm demeanor and dedication to her craft was admirable, as was her beauty. Every once in a while Illya encountered a woman who truly took his breath away, made him want to be part of something more than an organization. Karina had done that and with the added bonus of being Russian. To discover that she worked in the United States as an agent of the Kremlin had been disappointing and, to be honest, a source of anger.

  
Was it duplicitous on her part? Probably not, but Illya’s initial reaction had been unkind. Now as he thought about it, he realized that she was no more to blame for her position than he was for his. They both simply obeyed.  
Napoleon had recognized the mutual attraction between the two Russians, had felt the effect as he tried unsuccessfully to charm the lovely Karina. Her affections were obvious as she tried to work through the disappointment he had shown with her admission of being a Soviet agent. Any future liaisons were now effectively cancelled: Illya’s position with UNCLE demanded that he not be compromised by any political associations, especially those that might engender accusations of spying.

  
Illya was ready when his friend called to say he was waiting for him in the car. Each man had gone home and changed clothes, emerging in something more suitable for an evening meal, away from work. The destination was still unknown to Illya, but he trusted his partner’s promise that it would be an enjoyable night out. The general direction in which they drove did not immediately alert the passenger to their destination, and the crowded street required parking some distance from the restaurant. As they approached, however, Illya had a momentary sense of something he couldn’t quite identify.

  
“The Russian Tea Room? Napoleon...” Illya stopped in front of the door, not sure if he dreaded the opulent interior for the sake of its decadence or the sense of emptiness that it evoked.

Napoleon recognized the hesitation for what it was, accepting that his friend would always have a degree of inner turmoil where his homeland was concerned. He also knew that Illya loved Russia, had been very happy among those Russian dancers as he melded into their world for a few days.

  
“Have you been here before? I think...’ Illya nodded, then smiled in genuine appreciation for the gesture his friend was offering; of friendship and solidarity. Napoleon sighed with relief. ‘‘Good, then let’s go in and celebrate being Russian.”

  
“This is really quite wonderful, thank you.” As he looked around the room it was like stepping into the past, although not his own. The restaurant was conceived and opened by former members of the Russian Imperial Ballet and reflected the tastes of upper class, privileged citizens in the pre-Revolutionary world of Tsarist Russia. Balalaika music played in the background, conjuring images in the blond’s memory that seemed incongruous with where he now found himself. Napoleon hoped that his next little surprise would not be too unsettling, but he felt confident that it had been the right thing to do.

  
“Ah, Illya...’ He got his attention and then directed the blue gaze towards a table set with four champagne flutes and two lovely women. “I hope you don’t mind. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.” It hadn’t been easy to avoid that topic, and now that he saw his friend’s reaction all of Napoleon’s anxiety over this gambit faded away.

  
Sitting at the table across from Maude Waverly was Karina. Illya stared at first, but his face betrayed his pleasure at seeing her, something that was reciprocated as she held out her hand for him in a welcoming gesture. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary as though in a whisper of secret intentions.

  
The evening was perfect and the company equally so. Napoleon and Maude wanted to go to a club and listen to music but the invitation to join them was declined by the other couple.

  
“Thank you, but ... no. Karina and I will...’ Illya looked at the beautiful brunette, his fear of reprisal suddenly of no consequence as he embraced the moment and what might be had on this night. “Karina and I have things to ... discuss.” Her eyes were bright with anticipation, her heart light as she considered what might lay ahead.

  
Napoleon was satisfied that he had done his job well. Illya and Karina looked content with each other, and that was all he needed to know. In spite of their apprehension about position and being watched, this evening seemed to have melted all of that away like the candles that had turned into puddles of wax. Hearts were melting, emotions were rekindling what had been extinguished.

  
“Happy Valentine’s Day you two. I’m sure your, um.. conversation ... will be very satisfying.” With a wink Napoleon escorted Maude to the foyer and out onto a busy 57th Street, their evening still forming before them. Illya and Karina lingered over vodka and a shared plate of cheese blintzes that would remain mostly uneaten.

  
As the couple emerged into the brisk February night Illya wrapped his arm tightly around his Russian ballerina. Tonight he would welcome overtures of romance, the warmth of a woman’s touch.  
Karina’s touch. Their dance was about to begin.

 


End file.
